


Two weeks in Sussex

by SassySherlockReturns



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Bees, Boyfriends, Bullying, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, High School, Jealous Sherlock, Jim Being Creepy, Jim from IT, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Mary Morstan/John Watson, Minor Sebastian Moran/Jim Moriarty, POV Sherlock Holmes, School Trip, Sexual Harassment, Sherlock Holmes & Molly Hooper Friendship, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sort of? - Freeform, Summer, Teasing, Teenagers, Teenlock, like really minor i promise, maybe a bit of smut, teen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-25
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-14 16:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2198511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySherlockReturns/pseuds/SassySherlockReturns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes is about to spend two weeks in Sussex with his school, and it would all be a good deal of fun if he wasn't rooming with John Watson, the Golden Boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"You're smiling."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"I am, yeah."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"It's odd."_
> 
>  
> 
> _"Want me to stop?"_
> 
>  
> 
> _"No. "_

Sherlock wasn't sure why, but he was looking forward to the two weeks away in Sussex with his school. Despite the idiots laughing at him, and the teachers keeping him from wandering off and doing what he wanted to, and the fact he had to room with another student, it was going to be tolerable. Better than tolerable. Maybe, just maybe, Sherlock would have a good time. Which was unlikely, he knew, especially with Sebastian Moran and co lurking about, but it was better than nothing at all. 

"Sherlock Holmes?" The teacher called out when all the students were crowded in the hallway between rooms, leaning on the walls, laughing among themselves and ignoring the teachers huffing and puffing, clipboard held tight to her chest. "Quiet down, you lot, or you'll all be sleeping out here for the next two weeks." After a moment or two, the chatter died down, "Sherlock Holmes?" Among the students, Sherlock lifted his hand, peering at the teacher with a raised eyebrow. "You will be sharing room 2A with John Watson." 

John Watson. 

There was rustling behind him and laughter as John's 'mates' poked and nudged him, teasing him about being stuck with Sherlock Holmes, the school freak and the school gay. "Make sure he doesn't shag you in your sleep!" One laughed and, surprisingly, John joined in. For once Sherlock was glad the teacher hissed at them all to shut up, passing Sherlock the key when he shoved through the students, dragging his bags along with him and unlocking the door as quick as he could, eager to get away from the idiots. All except one idiot. At least John wasn't dumb. At least John didn't beat him up. But he was friends with them. He was friends with Sebastian and co. He probably knew about the beatings. He probably encouraged them. However, things could be worse.

Right? 

The room was small, two beds side by side, almost touching but held apart buy a small side table wedged in the middle, a cheap and tasteless lamp taking up almost all of the tabletop space. On the far left wall was a small window and a wardrobe, with a tray underneath for shoes, which hadn't been dusted in what looked like years. On the far right was a door which led into the small, almost claustrophobic toilet, along with a small sink, leaving hardly any room to stand. And, to Sherlock's horror, pinned up on the wall was a notice that public showers were down stairs, next to the swimming pool. He'd have to have a group shower with all the other boys in his year. He'd have to shower bare for them to see, his whole horribly skinny body on display for everyone to see. They'd all see the marks from where he'd stuck various needles in his arms, they'd see his ribs and his scrawny arms, they'd see vulnerability and Sherlock wasn't ready to show all to the idiots in his class. Hell, he'd never be ready. However, it was still the afternoon, they wouldn't need to shower for hours yet.. Sherlock just needed to unpack and read for the rest of the afternoon, he could shower when everyone else was gone. Yes, that's what he'd do. 

"Wow, spacious." John said with a sigh when he entered the room a few minutes later, dragging his bag behind him and dumping it onto the floor, along with his backpack. "So, we're room-mates for two weeks, may as well get to know eachother." 

"We will only be together for sleeping," Sherlock answered, already unpacking his bag and loading his clothes into the wardrobe, claiming the left bed by keeping his bags ontop of the cover, watching as John sighed, moving to sit down, "we don't need to know eachother."

"C'mon, don't be so tight, Holmes." 

"I'm not 'tight'."

"What's your favourite colour?"

"I'm not telling you."

"C'mon."

"Leave me alone. "

"Jesus, you're really moody, aren't you? My friends said so."

Sebastian, Anderson, Greg, Matt, Oliver, maybe even Jim. 

"We don't need to do this, I already know enough about you."

"Oh yeah?" John raised an eyebrow, licking his lips, despite the fact they were already moist. Why did Sherlock find that, of all things, distracting?

"Yes. I know your brother Harry is an alcoholic and I know your dad died in war, which you're emotionally troubled about and now have PTSD. Where did he die, by the way? Afghanistan or Iraq?" He watched John's face fall and his brows furrow, he watched John's eyes harden and his smile fall completely. 

"Afghanistan... Sorry, but how did you-"

" Your case says, 'If found please return to Harry Watson', so it's obviously and hand me down. It could be your father, but he was a military man, that case wouldn't be so shabby badly looked after if it was his, so brother is the most likely case. He's obviously an alcoholic because the case sticks of alcohol, along with various stains from certain alcoholic beverages. Anyone could see that. And I know your father died at war because of the slight tinge under your clothes- dog tags. I'm guessing it's a parents because of how much time you took off a few months ago, and the limp that it's caused, which is entirely psychological and has nothing to do with knife wound you got from being mugged, may I add." He stopped talking and lowered his gaze, breathing in, then out, waiting for the yell, the shove and the punch. He was waiting for John to call him a freak. 

He waited, but nothing came. Instead, after a moment, there was a small giggle and then a surprised laugh. 

"That was brilliant!" Sherlock's gaze shot up and his eyes widened, staring at John, unable to deduce if that boyish grin was genuine or fake. However, when John didn't stop smiling at him, Sherlock had to accept that it was indeed genuine. The first positive comment he'd gotten towards his deductions before.

"You think so?" He asked hesitantly, raising an eyebrow. 

"Duh! I mean, a little blunt, yeah, but.. Jesus, I can't believe you can do that." 

"You're smiling." 

"I am, yeah."

"It's odd." 

"Want me to stop?"

"No. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to be a multiple chapter fic, so I'm going to set it over the two weeks in Sussex (obviously). It's gonna be Johnlock, probably gonna be a tad smutty, but nothing too over the top, and it's going to include Seb the Bully being a general dick.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


	2. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Had it been anyone else, Sherlock would have groaned and rolled his eyes. but this was John. John Watson who offered him a smile without knowing him, John Watson whose giggles now filled his ears and made him feel horribly happy. He shouldn’t be happy. He shouldn’t be like this, because John wasn’t his friend._

That night, John went out to a party. One of the parties the students held under the teachers nose whilst she was asleep. Many of them had smuggled alcohol into their suitcases, none daring to bring drugs, not even Sherlock had brought his beloved cigarettes. There was music playing outside, Sherlock could hear it, and he thought of John, laughing with a girl, kissing a girl, whispering onto a girls ea- Why was he even bothering to spend precious time thinking about something as stupid as this? John wasn't his, John wasn't even his friend, and Sherlock wasn't attracted to him. No. No, he wasn't. Just because John was kind and didn't laugh at him, that didn't mean they were friends or that Sherlock could possibly like him a little bit more than he should. Anyway, John was friends with all the people Sherlock couldn't get along with. It was stupid, completely stupid. 

"Come on, Sherlock." John had said, coating his hands with product and ruffling his hair. 

“I'm not going to that party." Sherlock has argued, but John only laughed, rolling his eyes and mumbling a 'See ya later' as he strolled out the door. 

Sherlock now thought back to all those times John had smiled at him in the corridors, all the times he'd shoved his friends when they'd laughed at him during class. John Watson certainly wasn't an idiot.

He returned to the dorm at three in the morning, completely intoxicated, and Sherlock promised himself to never mention how he'd helped John get undressed and into bed. He also swore that later, when he could remember to, he'd delete the way John had looped an arm around him with a dopey smile. 

Sherlock was not going to develop a stupid, idiotic, common ‘crush’. It was ridiculous and Sherlock wouldn’t do that to himself. 

_Caring is not an advantage._

~

When Sherlock did sleep, he slept deeply. He’d refuse to get out of bed until his body clock woke him. So, when their teacher came around at eight in the morning, banging on doors and telling them they only had twenty minutes to get ready, Sherlock groaned and rolled over in his bed, grabbing a pillow to hold over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn’t want to wake up and go to some stupid castle, even if there was a chance it could be interesting. 

“Sherlock! Mate, c’mon, I don’t want her to shout at us because you’re not up!” John huffed, but Sherlock hardly heard; he was too busy watching dream-John smile at him over and over again. But he was pulled out of his dream when he hit the floor, wrapped in a duvet with wide eyes, staring up at John with a scowl and looking away when John burst into a fit of giggles. 

Had it been anyone else, Sherlock would have groaned and rolled his eyes. but this was John. John Watson who offered him a smile without knowing him, John Watson whose giggles now filled his ears and made him feel horribly happy. He shouldn’t be happy. He shouldn’t be like this, because John wasn’t his friend. John was a nice, kind boy that smiled at everyone. Sherlock wasn’t any different. Sherlock was just another boy that John had chosen to be kind to. He wasn’t special; John wasn't going out of his way to be kind, or flirting with him, or doing anything more than smiling at him when no-one else would. He was being stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So why did he instantly peer over at John when the teacher announced, later in the day, that they were to get into pairs? Of course, John didn’t peer back at him, instead, he turned to Sebastian Moran, laughing at a joke he’d just made, shuffling closer to show the teacher that they’d chosen who to go with. Sherlock had known John wasn’t going to choose him; why should he? And there was no reason at all for Sherlock to be hurting so when he looked away, listening to everyone clumping into two’s behind him until he heard a small, “Sarah? Do you mind going with Sally?”, and then a short, mousy brown haired girl appeared next to him. 

“Hey, Sherlock.” Molly muttered next to him and Sherlock turned, smiling at her and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, “Want to be a pair?”

“Sure”

~

“Did you hear about Carl?” Molly asked during the walk to the castle. 

“Carl? Carl who?”   

“You know, Carl Powers!” She sighed, nudging his arm. At the mention of the name, Sherlock tried to look back and remember where he’d heard the name before. Did she mean.. Carl, the bully, Carl? The Carl that had laughed at Sherlock for years until he found another unfortunate soul to pick on? 

“The swimmer? In our class?” He asked instead, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! I mean.. It’s pretty sad.” 

“What happened to him?” 

“He drowned, Sherlock. Had a fit in the middle of the pool. I mean… Isn’t that sad? His parents must be so sad… And all his friends too.” 

“He had a fit? In the middle of the pool? Why?” 

“I don’t think anyone knows why, he just did.” 

“Everything happens for a reason.” A boy of amazing health with no medical conditions but some eczema could hardly drown in a pool for no reason.

 “Not everything.”

~

He couldn’t stand to spend a second more in that bloody castle. Not a moment longer with idiots crowded around him, making noise, glaring at his from all angles. So he left. It was as simple as that. None of the students were paying too much attention to him, and the teacher didn’t offer him a second glance. It was easy enough to slip away when they moved into a new room. 

The gardens of the castle were beautiful, something the tour guide had not yet shown the class. Flowers clumped together around the large wall surrounding the building, lush grass made the ground cushioned and when the sun was shining like it was on that particular day, it seemed like the most beautiful place in the world. However, it wasn’t, and Sherlock knew that, but he let himself believe for a short moment that he was surrounded by beauty, at that he didn’t have a care in the world. 

He walked for a while longer, letting his mind drift until a buzzing sound passed his ear. And then again. Suddenly, a small, yellow and black bug landed on his nose, making Sherlock’s eyes widened and his body freeze. 

“Don’t move, son! If he stings on your face it’s gonna kill!” A man called, running towards him dressed in a large, white suit, a odd looking hat covering his face. Which, after a moment of confusion, Sherlock recognised as a beekeepers suit. He waited, watching the man run forwards as the bee flew away. 

“Sorry about that.. I don’t have many flying away, ya know? Most of them stay near the honey.” The man laughed, removing his hat and setting it under his arm, offering Sherlock an odd, lopsided smile.  He was in his late forties with fat around his chin, though he was smiling, despite the bags under his eyes and the grey hairs peeking out at his temples. Problems with his wife, probably. However, Sherlock could clearly see he loved his job, from the way he looked at the bees with glistening eyes, or by the way he cradled his hat under one arm, holding it protectively. 

“I didn’t know there were bee keepers here.” Sherlock mumbled, glancing behind the man, taking a long look at the beehive, a tray of thick, oozing honey pulled up and on display, bees buzzing around the sticky liquid possessively. 

“Yeah, they want us here for the school trips, to show the kids how beekeeping was done in the medieval time. I mean, I know I’m not dressed properly, but I know all the history of it.” The man shrugged, turing around to walk back to the beehive, knowing Sherlock was following him.

“May I have a closer look?” Sherlock asked when he was standing a few meters away, watching the man as he picked up a spoon, getting ready to scrape the honey off into a jar. 

“Kid, I don’t think it would be safe.”

“I’m 16. Hardly a ‘kid’.”

“Your parents would kill me if you got stung bad. “

“I’m not here with my parents.” 

  “Teacher, then.” 

“I won’t get stung.” The man sighed, looked around once, before taking a reluctant step back and passing Sherlock his hat. 

“Put that on and have a look. But that’s it, okay? A look.”

Sherlock nodded, slowly putting on the hat before moving closer to the bee hives and taking a look inside. Honey oozed from the trays, dripping down onto the bottom of the hive, bees buzzing around it, some still working on making the honeycombs full to the brim. Anyone else would have found the sound annoying, would have batted the bees away when they came close, but Sherlock knew better. The sound to him was… Relaxing.  
 “Are you selling the honey?” He asked suddenly, forcing his eyes away from the bees to look up at the man.

“Yeah, I usually show the kids how to scrape it off and then sell the jars.” 

“How much?”   

“What?” 

“How much are the jars.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and the man sighed. 

“I dunno. Um… Three, maybe four, pound a jar?” Without hesitation, Sherlock fished out a five pound note from his pocket and handed it to the man. 

“Wait- I.. I haven’t put it into jars yet.”

“Well then, you better get started.”

~

When Sherlock finally re-joined the group, he had two jars of honey in his backpack and a smug smile on his face, managing to slip back into the group unnoticed, hovering at the back, watching as Seb and John laughed together, whispering between themselves like two giddy twelve year old girls. It was ridiculous. 

“Okay, guys, you all brought money, right? We’re going to pop into the gift shop before we head back, okay?” Sherlock must’ve missed lunch, but he didn’t mind. He’d just have to have dinner today. 

The gift shop was small, different sections filled with items based off each exhibition around the castle. And, to Sherlock’s delight, there was a section for beekeeping. He had ten pounds left, which was more than enough to buy him two books all about keeping bees, and how bees made honey. 

“What you buying, freak?” Anderson asked, his voice making Sherlock cringe and Sally’s laugh burning his insides.

 “Go away.” He hissed, clutching the books against his chest, turning around and pushing past the two of them to the main desk, handing over the books, then his money, ignoring the laughter behind him. 

They left the gift shop after only ten minutes, and started to walk back again, Molly sticking to his side and blabbering about something stupid one of her friends had said. However, whilst talking she seemed to remember something to tell her friend and politely excused herself from Sherlock’s side, assuring him she’d only be a few minutes. Sherlock was used to being on his own, but with the rest of the boys walking behind him, he felt oddly vulnerable. 

“Hey, gaylord!” Matt called out, laughter erupting from behind him, “Oi! Faggot! I’m talking to you.” 

Sherlock didn’t reply. He kept his eyes forward, hating himself for scanning the people walking infront of him, hating himself for looking for John, hating himself for the hurt in his chest that bubbled when he realised John was walking behind him with the rest of them. 

~

Sherlock sat on his own at dinner, picking at his food and then returning to his room as soon as possible, collapsing onto his bed and fishing out one of his books from his backpack with a smile. 

For two hours, he had peace. Silence as he read, the sun starting to set, the warm, orange light pouring in through the single window in the room. But as soon as the clock struck eight, music started to play, slowly getting louder as the sun set. The beat hit the walls of his room and Sherlock could feel it in his chest, unable to concentrate on his book with someone rapping in his ear. 

He could go and turn off the music, watch as people yelled at him and pushed him aside, threw him to the ground and called him names… Surprisingly, Sherlock wasn’t too fond of that option.

He could walk off and go sit in the gardens on the other side of the grounds on his own. But what if he returned too late and he was locked out? The main doors locked shut for the night, meaning he’d have to sleep outside on his own. That option, too, didn’t seem to have many pros. 

He could simply put up with the music and laughter from outside and try to read, but he knew that he’d go crazy not being able to concentrate. 

The final option was to go to the party. To hang out with Molly and her friends and then return to his room when everyone else got too tired to move. But that meant spending his own time with the rest of the class. He was choosing to hang out with them, he wasn’t being forced to and Sherlock felt as if he would be betraying himself if he did. However, he wouldn’t have to look at those boys if he didn’t want to. He could stick with Molly, or sit next to the pool by himself. Having a shower that morning had been bad enough, Sherlock certainly didn’t want to spend anymore time with just the males in his class. 

After a few, long minutes of thought, Sherlock pushed himself up and off his bed, grabbing his room key and leaving the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I was half asleep whilst I wrote this chapter so if it seems a bit jumbled or badly written, I'm truly sorry about that. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and I'll update as regularly as I can. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	3. Night Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was ridiculous to be so affected by a pretty girl talking to John, but Sherlock couldn’t find a way to stop the burning in his chest or the anger that boiled when he thought of any girl pouting her lips at him._
> 
> _John was free to do what he wanted, but that didn’t mean Sherlock would be pleased about it._

Everyone was laughing, drinks cradled in hands, arms looped around each other. The music was loud, but not loud enough to wake the teacher or alert the hostel staff. People were scattered around the grassy gardens or lounging around the pool, an artificial, orange glow lighting up the place from cheap lights placed outside the building. 

Sherlock spotted Molly instantly, sitting in a circle with all her friends, and a small, dark haired boy pressed against her side. Sherlock had noticed him before, now and then in hall ways, but he’d never bothered to take his name. And Molly had never mentioned him. But from the way he brushed away the hair from her face, Sherlock thought it best not to intrude

He wandered for a bit, staying clear of Sebastian's loud, booming voice, keeping his head down until a strong, short arm looped around his neck and pulled him close. For a second, Sherlock though he was being strangled, but then he turned his head and saw John’s face smiling back at him, his hair ruffled and cheeks flushed. 

“Sherl! You came!” He laughed, grinning at him brightly, obviously unaware of the fact Sherlock’s cheeks were turning a soft pink. 

“Yes, I’m here, John, well done.” Sherlock mumbled back, reluctantly letting John pull away from him, still intoxicatingly close, close enough so that Sherlock could smell his breath tinted with the slight smell of alcohol. He could see the chapness of John’s bottom lip, which explained the way his tongue darted out to wet it many more times than necessary. He could see just how blue John’s eyes were, how tanned his skin was and how sandy his ruffled hair looked up close. 

“See, isn’t it good to be here instead of cooped up in some stupid room?”   

“I wouldn’t say so.” Sherlock said before he could think of something better, and John laughed. John had _laughed_ at something he’d said. But it wasn’t cruelly, it wasn’t the mean, teasing laugh Anderson or Sebastian had, it was kind, soft and comforting. And Sherlock loved it.

“You wanna drink?” John asked, raising an eyebrow, holding his red cup out in front of him for Sherlock to take. Which, to his own surprise, he did. But after swallowing the odd, clear liquid, Sherlock gagged, covering his mouth with his hand to stop himself from coughing all over John, the liquid burning the back of his throat. John placed a hand on his shoulder, brows furrowing, mouth open, about to ask if he was okay when a voice called for John and, as if struck by something, John jumped back. 

“Oi! Watson! You gonna take a shot or not?” A voice called and John sighed, turning back to Sherlock, offering him a small, hardly there smile as a sort of apology before scurrying off and back to his friends, leaving Sherlock alone, finding it hard not to vomit. 

Sherlock watched John go, watched him take a cup from Seb and tip it back into his mouth, wincing for a minute before grinning madly. After the shot, Seb turned around and threw his arms up into the air, the ‘popular’ girls of their year strolling forward, giggling and so obviously flirting with the boys in front of them. A bleached blonde girl named Hannah moved closer to Seb, flicking her hair away from her face and smiling brightly. Another blonde, but shorter, chubbier, walked over to John and batted her long, black eyelashes, making him stumble on his words and- Sherlock had to look away, unable to watch the two of them flirt like that.

It was ridiculous to be so affected by a pretty girl talking to John, but Sherlock couldn’t find a way to stop the burning in his chest or the anger the boiled when he thought of any girl pouting her lips at him. 

John was free to do what he wanted, but that didn’t mean Sherlock would be pleased about it. 

However, when he turned back there was the small boy he’d seen with Molly earlier leaning against the wall next to him, a cigarette held between two fingers. 

“Look at those idiots flirting with Sebastian. Honestly, they don’t have a chance.” He sighed, inhaling the cigarette smoke before blowing out, “Cigarette?”

Sherlock nodded almost instantly, the very smell of the smoke making him itch. The boy fished out the packet from his pocket and offered it to Sherlock, letting him take a cigarette before holding out a lighter, watching as Sherlock moved forward with the cigarette in his mouth with wide, curious eyes. 

The boy was odd, indeed. As Sherlock lit his cigarette he gave himself a moment to rake his eyes over the boys face and form. 

He had pale skin and a unique expression that seemed to be a mix between pain and joy. He was wincing, but at the same time it looked as if he was trying to smile. Dark hair had been styled with excessive product, and his eyebrows seemed to be perfectly styled. Gay, then. He had to be, if the product, grooming and bright green briefs peeking out from his jeans were anything to go by. 

“I’m Jim, by the way.” He said, almost eagerly, trying to catch Sherlock’s gaze, though Sherlock made sure to keep his eyes forward. 

“Sherlock H-“ 

“Holmes! Sherlock Holmes, I know. Unique name, isn’t it?” Sherlock frowned slightly and turned his head to look at Jim, brows furrowing when he noticed Jim’s smile. It almost seemed… Flirty. 

“I saw you cuddling up to Molly earlier; are you two dating?” 

“Yes! We are, actually.” 

“Even though you’re gay?” At that, Jim coughed, smirked slightly and then looked away, pushing off from the wall and dropping the cigarette, crushing it under his foot. 

“I’ve got to get back to Molly. I’ll see you later, Sherlock.” Jim’s smile was oddly soft and his eyes seemed to twinkle with something Sherlock couldn’t quite place. He nodded at Jim and let him leave, watching him drop a piece of paper in his tracks, bending down soon after to scoop it up, unfolding it and brushing off the ashes. 

‘Call me - 231 011’ it read, along with a small, neatly drawn heart. He wasn’t interested in Jim. Sure, Jim was attractive, but Sherlock saw him as nothing more than small boy that was just too eager. He also knew that if Molly found out he was gay, it would break her heart. With a sigh, Sherlock dropped the paper to the floor and walked off, crushing his cigarette underneath his foot as he went. 

People had gone off in twos or threes, some already drunk, others getting sleepy. Sherlock couldn’t help but deduce all his classmates as he wandered around, knowing who had an STD and who was going to catch one. It was a way to entertain himself as he walked around on his own, eventually deciding to collapse on the grassy slope overlooking the pool, watching the water flow, lit up but the fluorescent lights at the bottom of the pool. 

He watched the water, getting lost in his thoughts as he stared at the soft blue light, jumping slightly when someone hit the water, laughing loudly when they re-emerged, followed by a smaller, softer figure jumping in behind them. He was about to look away, or close his eyes, about to attempt to find the train of thought he’d just lost, when he noticed just how golden the tanned skin was of the boy that had just dived in and how the his hair was a particular shade of sandy blonde, though it had gone darker when soaked with water. 

John was swimming around in the pool with the same girl from earlier, dressed in only his boxer shorts, obviously admiring the girls body, as she was only dressed in her knickers and bra. 

She was pretty, Sherlock could see that, but it confused him as to why someone as interesting as John would fall for someone so ordinary (who, Sherlock now remembered, was called Mary Morstan. Even her name was ordinary.) 

He was smiling at her with a smile Sherlock hadn’t been fortunate enough to see yet, a smile that oozed charm as John leaned forward, lifting a small hand to cup her round cheek, brushing away a drop of water rolling down her fair skin. Instead of averting his gaze, Sherlock watched, squinting to see more, watching the way John opened his mouth slightly and moved closer, his lips locking onto Mary’s, saliva making his small lips glisten and, for some odd reason, Sherlock just couldn’t look away. Slowly, he lifted his own hand up to his lips and imagined just what it felt like to have John’s lips on his, to feel the rasp of stubble against his skin.. Good god, Sherlock was sure kissing John Watson would be something to remember. Sherlock wondered just how many different kisses John had, and the fact it was unlikely he’d ever get to experience one made something under his breast bone ache. 

There was something about John Watson that intrigued Sherlock. He’d never actively bullied him, or joined in with the teasing, but he was well aware it was happening and had never done anything to stop it. Once or twice Sherlock had caught his face scrunching up, his brows furrowed in unspoken disapproval of his friends actions and Sherlock could just tell, from all those times and how kind John had been to him whilst sharing a room with him, that he didn’t hate Sherlock like all the other boys did. 

But this wasn’t just a crush or a sort of attraction.. It was something much deeper, something Sherlock had never felt before. 

He wanted to go over to the kissing couple and replace Mary’s lips with his own, though he knew that it wouldn’t be welcomed. 

Finally, Sherlock tore his eyes away from John, about to push himself up and off the ground when a pair of strong hands harshly pulled him up to his feet, shoving him to walk down the hill by his collar, stopping Sherlock from looking back by grabbing a fistful of his hair, a few, deep laughs coming from behind him. Without glancing behind him or deducing who it was, Sherlock knew it was Sebastian and his ‘chums’. Of course it was. 

They led him down the hill and past the pool, a few boys whispering about John and Mary, which Sherlock tried very hard to ignore. They only let him go when they shoved him into the shower room, surrounding him in a large circle, some boys pushing him, others smirking. The whole group erupted into laughter when Oliver swiped away Sherlock’s feet from under him, sending him falling, groaning at the harsh pain that hit him when he collided with the floor. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Sherlock huffed, glancing up at them all with a glare, the strike to his side completely taking him off guard. He should know by now exactly what they’re doing, because it’s obvious. They’re beating him up, laughing at him, mocking him, teasing him. And, to be honest, Sherlock knew how this hell could have been avoided. 

Had he not walked in on his first day and let the deductions spill out of his mouth, he wouldn’t be labelled a freak. If he hadn’t let Victor Trevor kiss him in a public place two years ago, he wouldn’t be called gay. All of this was his own fault. 

A foot hit him again, over and over until his mind was so occupied with the pain that he didn’t notice hot tears were rolling down his cheeks. 

“Look at him! The freak’s crying!” One boy called out, and Sherlock had enough strength to look up and glare before someone else shoved him over with their foot, kicking his sides, his face, anywhere they could reach. Sherlock felt like prey being attacked by predators, beaten to death before they feast on him. But now they’re hungry for his pain, instead of the meat on his bones. 

He yelled and huffed, squirming through the pain, unable to block the laughter from his mind as he felt his body bruise. After a short while, Sherlock stopped trying to fight back. He was too weak, all lanky limbs and no muscle; he wouldn’t be able to hold them off even if he tried. And, sometimes, it was the words that hurt more than he the actual strikes. When they all laughed at him, or called him names, it felt as if they were punching him anyway. No-one could hear his cries, for the music was too loud. When he yelled at them to stop or choked out sobs it only sounded like a part of the booming music playing around them. 

Eventually, the pain began to fade, and his vision blurred. The world around him started to turn fuzzy and, after a few long, torturous moments, Sherlock passed out. 

John found him, knocked out and alone, lying in the middle of the shower room with a small puddle of blood around his face from a busted nose. John was drunk, yes, but not so drunk that he was unable to hoist Sherlock up and carry him back to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know most hostels don't usually have a pool, but this is just a little imaginary country place that has a nice outdoor pool for summer and public showers. Just thought I'd let you know that this is completely imaginary and that I didn't do any in depth research to find a place like this in Sussex. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! x


	4. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Don’t trust John Watson.”_

John stared at Sherlock, watching the rise and fall of his chest, the way his face moved in his sleep and his eyes moved under his eyelids. He’d woken up once since the attack, hazy and confused, asking for water. However, after a few moments he’d slipped back into slumber. 

He liked the boy. Sherlock had never personally done anything bad to him so there was no reason for him to dislike him, like all the other boys did. The others hated him. They _hated_ him. It was ridiculous, but John never had the courage to make them stop. Every time he’d approached them about the subject, they would brush him off with a laugh. They all liked John, but with his short-tempered father and alcoholic sister, he couldn’t afford to be an outcast. 

But he wasn’t going to make Sherlock feel bad, like the rest of them did. He’d smiled at him, spoken to him now and then and even asked him to the parties all his mates were throwing. Because, sure, Sherlock was a bit odd, but he didn’t deserve half the shit he was given. And this was the last straw. They’d beaten the boy bloody and John swore to himself that the next time they tried to pick a fight, John would stand up. He was… Oddly cute, too. Sleeping there with his curls spread out around his head like a halo, he looked cute. Wait. Wait, no! With a shake of his head, John quickly looked away, groaning as he felt his cheeks flush. He didn’t see Sherlock like that, of course he didn’t! Sherlock was a guy and.. No. 

John wasn’t gay, he knew that. Of course he wasn’t; he loved boobs and perky bums and soft lips and glossy hair, plus all those other lady parts.. But he liked other things, too. He liked cheeky smiles and that outgoing attitude boys had. He liked the muscles and, being slightly shorter than the rest, being with someone taller and not feeling out of place was.. New. And nice. Certainly nice. So maybe he wasn’t gay, but he wasn’t straight, either. He’d asked Sherlock to those parties to be kind, yes, but there was something small at the back of his mind telling him to get as drunk as he possibly could and then snog the hell out of Sherlock Holmes. Then, if someone saw them, he could save himself by blaming it on the alcohol. 

Now that he thought about it, that was awfully selfish. 

 

When Sherlock finally woke up it was the early hours of the morning and John was just drifting off as he heard the groan from the bed next to him. Instantly, he sat up, rubbing his eyes and turing on the light to look over at Sherlock. At the sight of the other boy, John winced. Bruises covered his face, some dark, others light, his right eye had swollen slightly and his bottom lip was busted. That lovely, soft looking bottom lip-

“You okay?” John asked softly, watching Sherlock blink open his eyes, his gaze eventually setting on John. 

“N’t really..” Sherlock replied, lifting a hand dumbly to touch his bruised face. 

‘Want some water?” 

“Yes, please…” 

~

Being injured was dull. Horribly dull. But, for some reason, having John sitting next to him, reading his book, it wasn’t as intolerable as it possibly could be. John got him water when he asked, he smiled at him and never left the room, for some odd reason. When Sherlock addressed it, John only shrugged and muttered “Don’t have anything better to do.” 

It was Sunday now and the students had been given the wonderful luxury of doing whatever they wanted for the whole day. They were given the opportunity to go into the town on their own, but they must be back for five o'clock and they all had to have dinner in the main building. What was awful, however, was the fact Sherlock could hardly move for the day.

“I’m so bored!” Sherlock groaned, turning over to hide his battered face in the pillow. John only sighed; he was used to this by now. 

“Fine! Lets.. Let’s play a game or something.” John huffed, setting down his book and turning on the bed to stare at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow as the pillow slowly lifted, revealing an unruly set of dark curls. 

“A game?” 

“Yeah.. Like.. Twenty questions.” Sherlock laughed slightly, rolling his eyes at the idiotic suggestion, “Oi! It’s a good game!”   

“Fine, go on. Let’s play it then.”

 “Okay. I’m thinking of something thats either a person, a place, or a thing. You have to ask twenty questions to try and guess it.” 

“Is it a person a place or a thing?” 

“A person.” John mumbled and Sherlock smirked. 

“Is it a girl?” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

“A male then… Is he a celebrity?” 

“Nope.” 

“Someone I know then, or the game would be pointless. Are they in our class?”

“Yep.” 

“Are they a friend of yours?” 

“I would like to say so.. I’m not sure if they see me as a friend, though.”

“Do they have dark hair?” 

“Yes?” Sherlock paused and thought for a for a long moment, his face twisted into curiosity, and then confusion. 

“Is it me?”

“Well done. You only guessed in six questions. Pity, I expected you to guess in four, or less.” 

Sherlock should've ben annoyed, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the fact John considered him a friend. 

~

The sun was shining in the late Sunday afternoon, the heat pooling into the rooms through windows, cooking anyone who was unfortunate enough to be inside. 

“Please, Sherlock. Lets just go down to the pool for a bit. I’ll sit next to you.” Sherlock was shaking his head, arms crossed stubbornly across his chest because he knew too well that if John was in sight of his old friends, Sherlock would be forgotten for good. He didn’t care if it seemed selfish, he wasn’t going to share John when John was actually _choosing_ to hang around with him. 

“You’ll just see a big-breasted girl and leave me to get beaten up by some other idiots.” 

“Oi! I will not!” 

“You’re hypnotised by two bulging blobs of fat on a womans chest.” John only laughed at that, standing up and fishing Sherlock swimming trunks out from his suitcase, smirking a little before throwing them and bursting out laughing as they hit Sherlock’s face. 

~ 

“I don’t like it.” Sherlock whined for what seemed like the millionth time that afternoon, squirming in his deckchair, crossing his arms and huffing and puffing, snatching the suncream from John and squirting it onto his hands, “I burn too easily, it’s too hot and everyone is staring at me” he muttered before rubbing his hands onto his torso, face and arms, wincing at the sticky white liquid that just refused to rub in. However, Sherlock Holmes rubbing suncream into his body should not be erotic, but for some, odd reason, John Watson thought it was. It was the way he was biting his bottom lip in concentration maybe, or the way the liquid just looked a bit like- Oh god, John was only wearing swimming trunks and really, if he got a little too excited, it wouldn’t cover anything. 

John looked away, crossing his legs and trying to search for Mary in the groups of people. That’s who he should be thinking about! Mary. Lovely, Mary. The Mary he’d snogged in only his pants the other day. Yes, she was definitely the person he had his eye on, not Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

“There, is it all rubbed in?” Sherlock sighed, making John’s head snap towards him and his eyes soften. The sight before him was endearing. Sherlock body was covered in bruises and the white suncream that, despite his best efforts, he hadn’t rubbed in at all. There was a blob above his belly button, some on his cheek and a small, but clear, amount on his neck. 

“Here-“ John reached out, not even thinking about it before cupping his hand around Sherlock’s neck, rubbing up and down without hesitation, meeting Sherlock’s gaze and smiling softly, not noticing the light flush of Sherlock’s cheeks. Then, slowly, he moved his hand down Sherlock’s chest, making sure to be ever so gentle over those dark bruises, trailing his hand down his breastbone, over his ribs (which were way too prominent, John noted) and down to area above his bellybutton, slowly running his fingers over the soft skin of his belly, massaging the cream in before it wasn’t visible anymore. Then, finally, John wiped in the cream into his face, noticing the way Sherlock was breathing, the way his eyelids were hooded and his cheeks were just so.. Pink. 

“Thank you.” Sherlock breathed when John finally pulled away, instantly looking down at his hands, looking quite flustered, though John didn’t dare to think about what that could mean. He was about to open his mouth and make a sarcastic comment, slowly starting to smile when Sebastian Moran jumped into the pool, swimming over to the edge nearest to them and shouting “GAY!”, making all his friends laugh and John glare, pulling up his left hand his middle finger up. 

“Ignore them, they’re just being dicks.” John whispered, sitting back in his chair, crossing his legs and sighing. 

~

  After an hour or two, the rest of the kids left. They all returned to their rooms, or got tired of swimming, leaving John and Sherlock alone. John swam for a bit as Sherlock lounged, watching him and making sure not to move at all, for the fear of one of his many bruises being touched. 

“C’mon, Sherlock, fancy going now?” John asked, climbing out of the pool, shaking his head, his golden strands dripping with water, along with his muscular body. Sherlock had a bit of trouble looking way. 

“Fine, we can go.” John helped him up and gathered their things, leading them both to the showers, which, fortunately for Sherlock, were now empty. Slowly, they moved inside, John letting go of Sherlock briefly to set their things down before starting to strip, unaware of Sherlock’s blushing face and the way he instantly turned away before, he too, started to strip. And when he had stripped, Sherlock cupped two hands around his crotch, back still turned to John. 

“Oh, Sherlock. We’re both boys. I have a dick, too, you know.” John laughed, turning on the spray of the water and stepping underneath it, letting out a soft sigh at the feeling of hot water hitting his skin. Soon, Sherlock joined him under the spray next to him. He didn’t look at John, picking up the soap and gently rubbing at his pale skin, making sure to keep silent. Without Sherlock looking at him, John had just enough time to let his eyes wander over his back, starting at his long, kissable neck, down to his shoulders, and then to the small of his back.. And.. John should not be looking at the cleft of another guys arse but he couldn’t help himself. Not when Sherlock was so close and the water was ever so slowly dripping down over every curve and dip of his body. 

Before John was aware of it, things were getting out of hand and he had to change the water temperature to cold. 

~

John had left something in showers half way to their room, he’d said, letting Sherlock walk back to the room by himself. Which he was fully capable of, but with his aching body he missed the comfort of John’s steady arm around his waist, supporting him. 

Most students were out, or in their rooms, laughing amongst themselves, making Sherlock roll his eyes at their stupid conversations he could hear through the thin doors. 

He didn’t bump into anyone, until he was three doors away from his room. For a fleeting second Sherlock thought it was John, coming up to Sherlock, pinning him against the wall and leaning into his space. That would have been pleasant, but this intruder of his personal area made him feel uncomfortable.The stranger had one hand on his skinny shoulder, digging into a bruise that was still new, making him wince. Another hand was slowly moving to his face, long fingers trailing down his cheek. And when Sherlock looked up, he was met with someone he hadn’t expected to see. 

Jim. 

His breath was mingling with Sherlocks, his eyes were hooded, and his mouth was twitched up into a smirk. Slowly, he moved in, pressing their lips together. 

What Sherlock was ashamed about, however, was the way he froze instead of pushing him away. 

“Don’t trust, Watson, Sherlock.” Jim breathed once he pulled away, obviously not catching the way Sherlock’s eyes were widened or the way his body was tense against him. 

“He’s bad news… He’s just playing you. He doesn't want to be friends! Is all a little act that his rugby mates dared him to do.” The giggle that fell from Jims lips was unusual; giddy, but slightly dark. Jim from IT didn’t seem so innocent and nervous now. However, his words made Sherlock pay more attention. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips parted slightly, which only made Jims smirk widen. 

“Don’t trust John Watson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh! Sorry about how long this took to upload, I've had loads on lately, and I'm just doing so many things! I'll try to update whenever I can, I swear. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	5. Day Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jim was right. John didn’t care about him. Of course he didn’t. Sherlock had only been a charity case. That’s all._
> 
>  
> 
> _God, he had been an idiot._

On Monday they went on another school trip to the coast, and Sherlock was ignoring John. Well, not ignoring, John reminded himself. Sherlock would make small comments but things seemed to have changed. They used to laugh together, and Sherlock would tease John about his bad sense of humour, but now… Now, Sherlock would shrug, keep to himself and read his books silently. As much as he didn’t want to admit it; it hurt. 

He’d wanted to sit with Sherlock on the mini bus on the way, he’d wanted to stop Sherlock from having to sit at the front next to the teacher, because all the other seats were taken. He hadn’t wanted to sit with Sebastian, that was for sure. Because, now that he’d spent some time with Sherlock (not enough, however) he saw Sebastian as more of an idiot. He didn’t know much, and jumped to conclusions about people. People like Sherlock. 

“Look at him, sitting with a teacher. Gay or what? Bet he’s wondering how big her husbands dick is.” John wanted to argue, he did, he wanted to tell Seb that he was being a dick, but instead he stayed silent, watching as Sherlock turned around, glaring at Seb, meeting John’s gaze for a split second, before looking away.

“C’mon, mate, leave him alone.” John mumbled with a sigh, but Seb only laughed, punching him lightly on the arm. 

~

The coast was beautiful, rocky cliffs, pebbly shores and blue sea. It would be perfect, had Sebastian Moran and his friends been somewhere else. He could hear them sniggering behind him, he could hear John giving the occasional laugh. 

Jim was right. John didn’t care about him. Of course he didn’t. Sherlock had only been a charity case. That’s all. 

God, he had been an idiot. 

“Okay, everyone out of the bus!” The teacher called, slowly climbing out of the mini bus, with students following behind her. Sherlock rushed out as soon as possible, grabbing his bag and moving out onto the grassy hill that lead down to the beach. 

The teacher spent a torturous ten minutes rambling on about the work, handing out work sheets and telling them the kind of sea life they were looking for in the multiple caves the beach had to offer, and then finishing by saying that they were all to return at the top of the hill in two hours. Finally, after all of that, she released them, freeing the students to walk around the beach as they pleased. 

It was boring, yes, but Sherlock preferred it to class activities, to being shoved into a room with idiots he couldn’t talk to, being forced to be with them. Here, he had a bit of freedom. The sound of the waves drowned out the laughter and stupid comments of the people around him, putting his mind at rest. 

He tried to walk down the steep hill as slowly as possible, his bones still aching from the beating he’d gone through and if he could avoid it, Sherlock would prefer not to fall down the hill.

“Need help getting down?” A familiar voiced asked, but Sherlock shrugged of the steady hand on his shoulder, glancing at John to see Sebastian slowly approaching behind him. 

  “Sebastian wants you.” He spat out, moving away swiftly. 

He didn’t want to talk to John. John was only acting kind because it was a stupid dare by his friends. Jim had said so, hadn’t he? Jim had convinced him and there wasn’t a way of turning back. 

Once on the beach, Sherlock headed towards the most distant, smallest looking cave, hoping to get away from the laughing and chatter of his peers, slipping off his shoes and socks before rolling up his trousers when he had to walk through a small amount of water. In the slight summer heat, he had stupidly expected the water to have been warmer but, of course, this was England. The English waters were never warm. 

Treating through the cool water, Sherlock made his way to the cave, intrigued by how clear the water seemed to be as he waded through it, his shoes dangling from the laces hooked on his fingers. He should have been cautious when entering the cave, but instead Sherlock didn’t even hesitate before moving into the dark, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmer light, the only source of brightness coming from the sunlight streaming in from the opening. 

The cave was small, but big enough for a few people, the water sitting just above Sherlock’s ankles. It was peaceful here, Sherlock thought. The only sound was his breathing, which bounced off the walls of the cave, echoing around him. That’s why, when the sound of someone walking through water behind him entered Sherlock’s ears, it was much more noticeable than it should have been. 

In a second, Sherlock spun around, expecting to see Sebastian laughing with his hands curled into fists, surprised when his eyes met a short irish boy, smirking back at him. He should have been relieved, he should have relaxed. Jim wasn’t a threat to him, really. He was a bit too eager, a bit too pushy, but he wasn’t a threat. So why, Sherlock asked himself, did his anxiety only increase. 

“I didn’t hear you behind me, Jim.” He said. 

“That was the whole idea, Sherly.” Jim replied, moving unbelievably quick, like a fox, moving into his space and pinning him against the wall cave, which was horribly uncomfortable. His head had slammed against the wall, and Sherlock felt a bit dizzy, especially when Jim was stealing all his air from being so close. 

“Get off me.” Sherlock growled, moving his hands to push against Jim’s skinny shoulders, surprised when the other boy held his ground, keeping him pinned against the stone, grinning madly, his eyes wide and wild. In a moment, their lips were joined again; Sherlock trying desperately to keep his mouth closed, to stop Jim from kissing him completely. He whined in protest, hands hitting the Irish boys shoulders, his knees trying to push against his thighs, despite the fact Jim’s body was flushed against his.

Jim removed a single hand from Sherlock’s body, slamming him back against the wall when he tried to pull away, his hand trailing lower, and lower, and lower and- 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” In a split second, Sherlock fell to the floor, his knees giving out beneath him when Jim let go, his legs and lower stomach soaked in water before he tried to push himself up, wiping the back of his hand over his bruised lips, groaning at the fleeting feeling of Jim’s lips on his. He’d forgotten Jim had to pull away for a reason, looking up and finding John Watson standing in the entrance of the cave, hands clenching and unclenching, his face red and his brows furrowed in anger. 

 That was odd. Why would John be angry over this? 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, moron.” Jim breathed, stuffing his hands into his pockets, swinging back and forth on his heels. The comment only seemed to stir John up more.

  “Get the fuck out of here, you psycho.” John growled, but Jim only laughed, moving closer, raising an eyebrow. 

“Or what?”   

“Or I’ll fucking break your nose.” Shoving Jim away from him, and out of the cave, John glared for a few seconds until Jim gave a final laugh, a wink at Sherlock, and then finally left. 

The moment Jim was out of sight, John was running up to Sherlock, helping him up to his feet and letting him lean against the wall, the anger on his face slowly melting into worry. 

“You okay?” Sherlock only shrugged in reply, “Oh, stop being such a twat and let me look at you! I do care, you know, and that weirdo could’ve bruised a bone of something from the way he pushed you up against that wall.” 

With that, Sherlock let John move closer, his hand moving to cup the back of his head, feeling around a bit before touching the spot that had hit the wall, watching as Sherlock winced. 

“That hurts.” Sherlock whispered, and John nodded, moving closer to reach further behind, their faces closer, their noses almost brushing. When John was in his personal space, it was different from when Jim was. Jim was harsh, Jim was rough and Jim didn’t respect him. John, however, did. John was gentle and if he were to lean in just a bit closer, Sherlock knew the kiss would be perfect. 

He waited for it. 

And waited, watching Johns eyes dart down to his lips and then back up again, but nothing happened. 

Then, after a few moments of silence, John pulled away. 

“Your head should be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I am so so sorry about how long this took to update! It's pathetically short, too, but I was finding it hard to drag it on and I wanted to update so bad, so have this awful short chapter! I'm sorry! I have been knees deep in school work these past few weeks, and I have NO TIME to do anything I want to. I'll try and keep this going, but it's going to be slow and I'm sorry about that. In two weeks we have a whole week off, so I'll try and update a chapter, maybe two, then. Again, I am so sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy! <3


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